Posts from the “Poetry” Category

the smallest acts

Posted on September 30, 2017

there have been times an infant this has shown that age does not define how much you know the wisdom that we look for in the skies is oft found in the youngest child’s cries   there have been times without having to speak servants of God managed the greatest deeds unrecognized by servants of this world young soldiers in the service of their Lord   such tyrants history had come to see the likes of which before there’d never been yet, by this Pharaoh’s reign would come to end— a infant’s basket down the river bend   such miracles which had not yet been done Maryam, untouched, had given birth—a son protect his mother, Isa had been able words spoken by one resting…

sweeter than honey

Posted on September 26, 2017

the meeting of swords, the clashing of souls brought by dawn after silence of night thousands who fight for darkness to prevail— small band, warriors of the light   the tenth of Muharram on Karbala’s sands a battle this morning has bloodily raged a few hours the length of centuries seems a grief by which young children are aged   from the first arrow released by the enemy Imam Hussain’s companions for him have bled while there is strength remaining in their bones not a drop of the Prophet’s blood will be shed   men continue to leave, bodies continue to return as a bloody scene in a weeping desert unfurls until finally none of these brave souls remain each companion valiantly departs from…

o eyes, shed your tears

Posted on September 22, 2017

O eyes shed your tears Muharram’s moon has turned in these days Hussain’s blood is spilled— the tents of Zaynab burned   O eyes shed your tears the caravan arrives soon will the sands redden with blood— the children’s gasping cries   O eyes shed your tears the bodies on the ground run upon by horses hooves— broken, in pieces found   O eyes shed your tears the son and father part the Prophet’s face enters the fray— yet spears still pierce his heart   O eyes shed your tears will not be quenched a thirst the neck of Hussain’s pure infant— an arrow reaches first   O eyes shed your tears to Furat Abbas goes Hussain sets out along his side— Hussain returns…

the secret

Posted on September 21, 2017

the world still craves to know the secret spoken by Hussain that changed the heart of one such as Zuhayr the son of Qayn   what was it that was spoken in the silence of that tent that changed a wary man into a man wholly content?   when just moments ago, Zuhayr had in this act persisted: where Hussain lay his camp, Zuhayr would lay his at a distance   two caravans had found their paths by destiny were crossed yet one hid from the other steering clear at any cost   til finally the noble son, the heir of Thaqalayn dispatched a message for Zuhayr, the simple son of Qayn   with one who had avoided him, Hussain now wished to speak…

your Ali

Posted on June 16, 2017

it’s long been a wish of mine a wish that my eyes may see standing underneath the sky of Madina’s pure city   of your city I have dreamed of your tranquil purity that soul resting in your sands RasoolAllah, Allah’s Nabi   in night-depths I lay awake to my eyes whispers a dream the sun’s fragrance in the rain coolness of the moonlight’s gleam   aching hands grasping at stars I walk weightless over seas green dome, rising from afar, your grave stands in front of me   how many words I wish to say! wishes of my heart to free! comes only a single phrase one thought brings me to my knees   no words worthy, like these words no other words…

some days

Posted on November 8, 2016

some days, I walk down the street like everyone else     bundling my coat close to my neck waiting for the stoplight to turn “some weather we’re having” “isn’t that right” “in my day, autumn was never this chilly”   some days, I go through the motions   scribbling my name hastily across a paper filling in bubbles, a code I can’t decipher “as you can see in figure a” “so this study clearly shows” which is better, one or two one or two one or two one or two— one or—   some days, I give in to forgetting   a whisper in my ear says, there is enough time – just rest my nails, chipped, ragged there are still many years to go splintered edges against rawed stone you…

the aftermath

Posted on October 13, 2016

your face haunts my every dream.   I wake from the fragrance of your embrace to the scent of fire and weeping—   to the wailing of flowing rivers, rivers of flowing blood.     “And think not Allah to be heedless of what the unjust ones do. He only respites them to a day when their eyes shall be fixed open [staring up with terror].”  – The Holy Quran, 14:42 –